


Experience is the Best Teacher

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-22
Updated: 2008-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter shows his younger self the darkness of humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experience is the Best Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Anonymous Kink Meme II](http://perdiccas.livejournal.com/78788.html).

  


[](http://s562.photobucket.com/albums/ss62/HSFAWinter2009/?action=view&current=section3_020rarepairingnc17_1.png)

  


“I don’t understand,” I say. “Why did you bring me here?”

 

He smirks at me, one corner of his mouth turning up. “There are things you need to be prepared for. Things you just don’t get.” He walks away, down the alley. “Things you wouldn’t understand,” he says over his shoulder.

 

I follow. “Oh, and you would?” It’s a bit silly of him to take the high ground here, against himself. He doesn’t stop walking, and he’s yards ahead of me when he phases though the door of a warehouse. Guess Nathan was right: I _can_ be a self-righteous brat. I grit my teeth and go after him.

 

It’s dark in here, and my eyes don’t have a chance to adjust before he grabs me by the front of my shirt and throws me down on the floor. It’s concrete, dirty and cold, and I wipe my hands off on my pants before trying to get up. He jumps on me, plants a knee in my belly to keep me down. “What the—?”

 

“Shut up, Peter.” I hardly recognize his voice—my own voice. It’s harsh and clipped, and in the dark he sounds downright menacing. “The problem with us is that you always wanted to see the best in people. You just couldn’t believe that people were stupid and greedy and evil.” He pins my arms to the ground without his hands; his control of his powers is far better than mine.

 

“Let me up.” I struggle against his hold, and his knee presses further into my belly. “That hurts, damn it.”

 

“Good.” He fists a hand in my hair—only just long enough to grab hold of—pulls my head up hard, then slams it back down against the concrete. A sharp burst of pain: my vision blurs, and I feel something wet drip against my scalp: blood.

 

“You always want to give people the benefit of the doubt.” He pulls his knee off me and slips down to straddle my legs. Air rushes back into my lungs, and I gulp it in gratefully. “Like Nathan. You believed in him until it was so damn obvious he’d sold you out. And Adam. He fed you lies and you just ate out of his hand like a goddamn dog. Pathetic.”

 

The head wound must be starting to heal, but I still feel woozy. It takes me a few seconds to realize that his hand is down my pants. “What?” I struggle, but it’s uncoordinated, and anyway my wrists are still pinned.

 

“People can’t be trusted. You’re too easy to use. They look at you and see someone who’s easy to manipulate, someone who they can play any way they want.” He has his hand around my cock now, his thumb rubbing little circles against the base.

 

“’S not true.” It’s the best response I can come up with, but really I’m having trouble forming coherent thoughts at all. I’ve touched my self exactly that way so many times, it’s unnerving to have someone else doing it.

 

“You’re too trusting. You just let people take and take and take.” His strokes are just right: right pace, right pressure, just the way that gets me hard. He knows—of course he knows—exactly what feels good. My pants are unzipped, somehow, and he pulls them and my boxers down to my knees. He’s not gentle. “You never learned how to say no.”

 

Then he wraps his lips around my cock, and _that_ is too much to handle. I’ve never done this to myself, of course, but I recognize my own technique, how it feels when I do—yes—that. “Please,” comes out of my mouth.

 

He pulls his mouth off of me, and grabs hold of my cock, which is now very interested in the proceedings. “Please what?”

 

I don’t even know. I have no idea what this is about, but this whole visit from the future has gone from “confusing” to “fucked up beyond telling” in the last five minutes or so.

 

“Please what?’ he asks again, and tightens his grip on me until I’m squirming.

 

“I don’t know, I don’t know.”

 

“Turn over,” he snaps. He pulls away from me, and the telekinetic pressure on my wrists lets up. I wish it was lighter in here, wish I could see his face. But I turn over.

 

“Stupid,” he growls. And maybe he’s right about me being too trusting, or about letting people take whatever they want, because he has two dry fingers in me as soon as I’m on my knees. It burns, he must know that, but he’s not gentle about it. He just twists them in, cruelly. “Here’s what you’ve got to know: the people you love can’t be trusted. Nobody really cares about you, Peter. Everyone’s just trying to fuck you.”

 

He pulls his fingers out and shoves his cock in. It hurts, but it feels so oddly familiar, the shape of his cock inside me, the sound of his breathing as he leans against my back. “This starting to make sense?”

 

He stays still, inside me. One hand is on my hip, and I can feel his rapid heartbeat in his chest, beating against my skin. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. I don’t know what he wants from me. “I can take it,” I say finally.

 

The noise he makes almost sounds like a sob. He bucks his hips up into me, going deep. His rhythm is mine; I’m moving back into his thrusts before I realize it, like it’s instinct. The spikes of pain morph to pleasure when he angles it just where he knows it will make me gasp. He reaches around to fist my cock, working it into our rhythm easily; we’re a perfect team.

 

“This is all your fault,” he says. His voice has a rougher edge than it did before. “If it hadn’t been for you, always letting people do this to you…” He draws in a breath that breaks halfway through, and he picks up his pace. His hand on my cock moves just right, in the familiar way that never fails to get me off, and then I lose the rhythm, my hips jerking as I come against my belly. He speeds up, hands bruising around my waist as he fucks me. “I hate you.” He slams into me once more, and he’s sobbing against my back when he comes.


End file.
